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Lizzy and Jane

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“That was the place to start. Jane Austen. A quick Internet search confirmed what I assumed: a diet full of fricassees, puddings and pies (savory and sweet), and stews, but few vegetables and a strong prejudice against salads until later in the nineteenth century. I looked up a Whole Foods nearby---a haven, albeit an expensive one, for fresh, organic, and beautiful produce---and then jotted down some recipes I thought would appeal to Jane's appetite. I landed on a green bean salad with mustard and tarragon and a simple shepherd's pie. She'd used mustard and tarragon in her own chicken salad. And I figured any good Regency lover would devour a shepherd's pie. I noted other produce I wanted to buy: winter squashes, root vegetables, kale and other leafy greens. All good for sautés, grilling, and stewing. And fava beans, a great thickener and nutritious base, were also coming into season. And green garlic and garlic flowers, which are softer and more delicate than traditional garlic, more like tender asparagus. I wanted to create comfortable, healthy meals that cooked slow and long, making the flavors subtle---comfortably Regency.”

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“You were right. Food is communal. Mom once told me that it was no accident that Jesus's first miracle was at a wedding. It was a sign that he was the Master of the Feast---and all celebrations involve a feast. Some of the best, most thankful moments of our lives involve food----almost all, really." I tapped Emma, resting on Jane's lap. "You see it in Austen. She only mentions food as a means to bring characters together, reveal aspects of their nature and their moral fiber. Hemingway does the same, though he skews more towards the drinks. Nevertheless, it's never about the food----it's about what the food becomes, in the hands of the giver and the recipient.”

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“We ordered way too much food, but Vietnamese is a cuisine I don't try often, and I wanted to absorb every taste and texture. We started with the signature Tamarind Tree Rolls---salad rolls with fresh herbs, fried tofu, peanuts, fresh coconut, and jicama. We then moved on to the Crispy Prawn Baguette---a lightly fried prawn and baguette served with hoisin and fresh chili sauce. I was impressed at how light and crisp the batter was----it was no more than a dusting. For a main course Nick ordered a curry chicken braised with potato and served with fresh lime and chili sauce. I couldn't help myself---I ordered the beef stew. I do this almost anywhere I go, because the cultural permutations are infinite. This one was fresh and citrusy with a dash of carrot, lime, pepper, and salt. I mentally developed some changes for my next stew. We also ordered green beans stir fried with garlic, and Shrimp Patty Noodles---a frothy bowl of vermicelli noodles, tomatoes, fresh bean sprouts, shredded morning glory, and banana blossoms.”

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“I never thought about food like that, but it makes sense. You aren't a different person when you read versus when you eat or do anything else----everything in us does intersect, I guess..." Cecilia's voice drifted away as she thought, and a blush suffused her face. "Put it that way, I see why I eat terribly. I love American teenage food, and it fits with my soft spot for eighties teen movies. You know, Breakfast Club, Sixteen Candles, Pretty in Pink... I even dress like that when I feel sad. Austen's much more intellectual." "That's Jane. If it makes you feel better, I read only cookbooks, and they really shouldn't count as real books." I thought for a moment. "But I never forget a food reference." "Never?" I shrugged. "It's a gift." "Sixteen Candles?" "The cake, of course. Oh, but there's that quiche dinner too. See? Sixteen Candles and Dickens---all about breakfast." "Under the Tuscan Sun?" "Never read it, but I'm assuming a ton of Italian?" "That was obvious." Cecilia smiled. "What's your favorite food reference?" "I've got two. I think the best opening line in literature is Peter Mayle's A Year in Provence. 'The year began with lunch.' All books and all years should begin that way." "And the other?" "Coldtonguecoldhamcoldbeefpickledgherkinssaladfrenchrollscressandwichespottedmeatgingerbeerlemonadesodawater-----" "That's too much!" She laughed. "That's exactly what Mole said. But Rat said, 'It's only what I always take on these little excursions, and the other animals are always telling me that I'm a mean beast and cut it VERY fine!'" I grinned. "I love that line." "What's that even from?" "The Wind in the Willows. It's the best picnic ever.”

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“The Sun Also Rises takes place mostly in Paris and a little in Spain. Tons of wine, Pernod, villagers' wine... but the food is spare like the writing: a suckling pig, a roasted chicken, shrimp, bread and olive oil. Simple food, uncomplicated tastes." I chewed my lip. "That's it. Let's stay with simple food. Hemingway loved Spain, so let's drift toward those flavors, but no spice. And we can make them mix and match like tapas. Tyler will have flexibility." It felt good to collaborate with Jane. We listed fruits and vegetables that we could blend into smoothies. We then listed different flours to give the meals more taste, texture, and nutrients, like the coconut and almond flours I'd used for Jane's potpies and Peter's cake. We decided to alter the egg dishes and quiches that I'd been making for her into cleaner, simpler hashes and scrambles. We developed vegetable dishes----poached, roasted, fresh and lightly seasoned.”

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“We started in produce. It's my favorite section, but it can be the hardest too---because vegetables carry a whole variety of tastes, aftertastes, acids, sugars, textures... Nothing can make you gag faster than a vegetable turned sour in your mouth or your stomach. But I needed tons of them because nothing delivers vitamins, minerals, fibers, and nutrients in such digestible ways. Beets, radishes, carrots, kale, and spinach had worked for Jane. I wanted to expand my list to broccoli, red and green cabbages, and other dark greens. I even played with the idea of baby roasted brussels sprouts---strong taste, even sometimes bitter, but if prepared right, that very element could appeal to Jane and Tyler. Olive oiled, salted, peppered, and broiled---it might remind them of popcorn with a sharp tang and a nutritional wallop on the side.”

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“I got up from the table and stepped to the cabinet above Mom's mixer, absently brushing off a layer of dust as I reached up. I found the jar I needed, musing that it was probably years old and tasteless---but still worth a try. "What are you doing?" "Hang on a sec." I clenched the jar in my fist and shook the spice into my hand, pinching a bit across his lasagna. "What's that?" "Trust me, it's just what it needs---a touch of earth and sweet to temper the tomato's bite. With fresh tomatoes you need less as summer approaches and they develop their own sugars. Taste it." He took a bite. "It's fantastic. What'd you add?" "Cinnamon." He didn't recognize it? "Amazing. I'll have to tell Mary." "Tell her a touch of milk tempers the acidity as well." "Interesting.”

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“Miss Elizabeth has never been to Old School Custard. Shall we?" "What's the flavor?" "Has that ever stopped us?" Nick pulled out his phone and started tapping. "It's our lucky day, kiddo. Salted Caramel." He turned to me as we headed out the door. "It's a frozen custard shop that makes only one flavor a day, but they always have chocolate and vanilla for backup." "I've never had frozen custard." "You're in for a treat----tons more calories than ice cream, but much creamier. Complete yum." Old School Custard was a small shop with walls covered in pictures of all the local high schools. I found Garfield and imagined Tyler in that huge building, teaching his beloved math. I then noticed an amazing chalk calendar with the flavor for each day listed, with creative drawings, and I understood why it was addicting---who could resist flavors like Malted Milk Balls, Caramel Macchiato, Espresso, or Banana Nutella? I ordered the Turtle Sundae----two scoops of Salted Caramel custard, pecans, hot fudge, caramel sauce, and whipped cream. Nick ordered the Recess, pretty much the same thing, but with Reese's Peanut Butter Cups instead of pecans. And Matt's Playground came complete with crushed Oreos for "dirt" and gummy worms.”

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“Great writers and my mom never used food as an object. Instead it was a medium, a catalyst to mend hearts, to break down barriers, to build relationships. Mom's cooking fed body and soul. She used to quip, "If the food is good, there's no need to talk about the weather." That was my mantra for years---food as meal and conversation, a total experience. I leaned my forehead against the glass and thought again about Emma and the arrowroot. Mom had highlighted it in my sophomore English class. "Jane Fairfax knew it was given with a selfish heart. Emma didn't care about Jane, she just wanted to appear benevolent." "That girl was stupid. She was poor and should've accepted the gift." The football team had hooted for their spokesman. "That girl's name was Jane Fairfax, and motivation always matters." Mom's glare seared them. I tried to remember the rest of the lesson, but couldn't. I think she assigned a paper, and the football team stopped chuckling. Another memory flashed before my eyes. It was from that same spring; Mom was baking a cake to take to a neighbor who'd had a knee replacement. "We don't have enough chocolate." I shut the cabinet door. "We're making an orange cake, not chocolate." "Chocolate is so much better." "Then we're lucky it's not for you. Mrs. Conner is sad and she hurts and it's spring. The orange cake will not only show we care, it'll bring sunshine and spring to her dinner tonight. She needs that." "It's just a cake." "It's never just a cake, Lizzy." I remembered the end of that lesson: I rolled my eyes----Mom loathed that----and received dish duty. But it turned out okay; the batter was excellent. I shoved the movie reel of scenes from my head. They didn't fit in my world. Food was the object. Arrowroot was arrowroot. Cake was cake. And if it was made with artisan dark chocolate and vanilla harvested by unicorns, all the better. People would crave it, order it, and pay for it. Food wasn't a metaphor---it was the commodity---and to couch it in other terms was fatuous. The one who prepared it best won.”

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“Persuasion?" "I grabbed it this morning. Can we read it next?" Jane's eyes were still closed. I ran my hand over the cover. "Why not? I could use a happy ending." "Austen always gives us that." "True, but she gave us more in this one. This one's the real deal." And for me it was. Without ever losing sight or diminishing Anne's reality and social limitations, Austen gave her and all of us the soft, steady hope of second chances, happiness, true love, and the promise that life might be better close to thirty than it was at eighteen. It was also an ending that didn't arrive with a ball and bow, but shot straight to the heart with the accuracy and power of a tipped arrow. And, as I visualized my face cream collection, we got to look better too. After all, Anne was a "very pretty girl" at eighteen. I contend she looked even better when her "bloom" returned.”

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“I opened the bag, and the scent of apples, sweet and ripe, wafted up. They were brown and shriveled and resting in a Pyrex bowl. The sight was incongruent with the wonderful fragrant smell. "I have a fantastic tree, cooking apples really---too tart to eat. But I freeze a lot. Jane mentioned last week that she loved applesauce, so I defrosted my last batch for her. They make the best applesauce I've ever had." "Thanks." "Do you know how to make applesauce?" "I can figure it out." "It's super easy; just add sugar and stew them over a low heat." And cinnamon? You should also add nutmeg or a little chili, but not too much.”

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